The Third Wizarding World War
by Brussel Sprout
Summary: AU! No Muggles . 2042. The year in which the deadliest conflict in Wizarding history began. Not just began, but would continue for many years to come. The war which would engulf the entire Wizarding world, and turn the soil red with blood. Perhaps it was fate that lead to it. To a conflict in which two brothers so dear to each other, stood so far apart.
1. Chapter 1

This fanfic takes place in a world in which Muggles do not exist. Much of history is similar to the original timeline, with Wizards taking the place of muggles. Technology is slightly different, and far behind the Muggle technology that would exist in 2041, closer to early 20th century, or late 19th. Harry Potter and his friends still existed. Rather than seeking the destruction of Muggles, Voldemort was a Britannian (British) wizard who sought the genocide of the French. His ideals garnered many followers, who believed in the purity of the Britannians, however, he was at last stopped, at the Battle of Hogwarts Castle, in 1997. Following his defeat, he was tried and executed, however, French and British tensions remain as high as ever. As their relationship spirals downwards, they will begin to take the rest of Wizarding Europe, and eventually, the entire Wizarding World, into war. So begins our story.

December 12, 2041.

James Potter hurried through the halls of the Britannian Ministry. He was late. Very late. Sharp turns, corners, one after the other, rushing past him in an unrecognisable blur. For a moment, he stopped to lament the Ministry's ban on Apparition inside the complex. Frankly, he thought it was rather preposterous. As he turned down a final flight of stairs, an enormous wooden door, some 10 metres in height rushed to meet him. The doors groaned open without a touch. Panting, James Potter stumbled into the room beyond.

Lavish carpets, chairs, chandeliers, and golden statues were what inhabited the room. It was to be expected of the Britannian Senate, the highest authority in the land, comprised of 121 elected members. 119 men and women were seated. The red velvet chairs were all filled, save for one on the left side, in the third row. His head bowed, James Potter made for his seat.

"Sorry for the delay, sir, there was a bit of a commotion at home, we can't get in touch with Albus." James muttered, knowing that the excuse would hardly suffice.

"...For once, it's quite alright, Senator Potter. That's exactly the matter you were called here to discuss, " declared the man seated at the head of the table. His eyes were fierce, sharp...and cold. His body was well defined, and his face rugged from years of experience. One glance at him was easily enough to tell that he was a man nobody would want to cross. And nobody ever did. No-one was stupid enough to ever cross the Chairman of the Senate, Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"I-I'm sorry, Sir, I..don't quite understand." James replied, bewildered, as he took his seat. The two Senators to his right gave rather scathing looks of disapproval, as though they disliked the attention he was receiving. Those to his left remained indifferent.

"Well. Senator Potter, at 10AM, on Monday morning, Albus Severus Potter, your younger brother, was reported _missing_, and-"

Kingsley's speech went no further, as James stood up to interrupt. "Sir, this is a family issue. I know it will be resolved soon en-"

Barely even glancing at James, Kingsley continued his tirade. "Your father, the esteemed Harry James Potter, was extremely worried. He relayed this to me personally. On Tuesday morning, Albus made no appearance, and had not been seen. On Wednesday morning, he-"

Irritatedly, James stood once more and began to speak. "With all due respect, Chairman Kingsley, this is a personal matter! I won't have you interfering with things that aren't your-"

Halfway through the sentence, Kingsley's eyes flashed with anger, sweeping away the ice cold facade as he stood himself, his voice now thunderously booming across the room. "It is of _utmost _importance, Senator Potter! At 11AM, on Wednesday, the 11th of December, Albus Severus Potter was sighted in Lille, by Britannian agents!"

James reeled back in shock momentarily, his mouth agape as he fell back into his chair. "Wha-...No...Whaaat?"

Kingsley continued on, ignoring James' objections. "The following afternoon, Albus was seen in Paris, entering the Hall of Governance! I'm sure you're well aware of the implications of this. Senator Albus Severus Potter, has defected to the enemy."

James had no words in response. His usual flippaliant, snappy nature had vanished, and his face was drained of all color. Yet something in his eyes indicated that the blow was not as much of a surprise as the others though it may have been to him.

"The defection of one of our Senators is bad enough. However, with Albus Severus being our Military Governor, we can only assume the worst. We have no doubt France is seeking war with us. I ask you this now, James Potter. Can we bring your brother back to our side?"

The rest of the Senate began to roll their eyes, knowing what was going to come next. The bond the brothers shared was a natural strength between them, using their connection in the Political battlefield to wreak havoc as they climbed the ladder. James looked Kingsley in the eye, his answer long formed.

"No. We cannot."


	2. Chapter 2

-_December 12th, 2041, London_

A stunned silence overcame the room.

"I-I'm sorry, Senator Potter, could you repeat what you just said? I-I think I may have misheard you." Kingsley declared, visibly shaken, his thunderous, commanding figure slowly shrinking back into the high-backed chair.

"I...said 'No', Chairman." James Potter replied, biting his lip, as though he was holding tears back.

"Hold it!" cried the Senator on his right, previously indifferent, now emanated worry and irritation.

"Is he not your brother? How can say tha-"

James turned his now icy gaze on the Senator at his right hand side. "Alfred Selby, if even _I _can't trust my own brother, don't you think it's slightly presumptuous to assume you know him better?"

Senator Selby, not backing down, retorted "But, surely, the two of you are so close, you could-"

James shook his head, and began to stride down the row, addressing the whole of the assembled Senate with steely eyes. "This, my friends, is what it has come to. My brother, Albus Severus Potter, has defected. And I cannot say I am too surprised."

One-hundred and nineteen pairs of eyes, all intensely focused on him. Any normal man would not have been able to stand the sheer pressure, and yet James ploughed on as if he were made for such an experience. To be a leader, and stand up in the face of those who disbelieved.

"Albus, has been showing...signs of wavering over the past few years, it is undeniable. His nature, he questions everything. He questions the society that we, as a country exist as. It was his belief that the next Voldemort would rise from within us."

Kinglsey held a wearied hand up. "Is that not inevitable? We will merely quash him before he begins. The law is far stronger now, our forces stand at over a million men! We have nothing to fear!"

"No, Chairman. That is exactly what we have to fear. Albus believed the next Voldemort would rise, not as a man, but as a social ideology. As something that would sweep the nation. There is no 'Voldemort' anymore. We are _all _Voldemort." James replied heavily.

"What a preposterous, unfounded, idea!" Snarled a pompous, rather rounded woman behind him. "Even so, the French are scum! Why should we care for what he thinks will happen to them?"

"Interesting that you say that, Senator Umbridge, interesting indeed."

"Enough." Kinglsey declared calmly, his words echoing over the lavish halls of the Senate. "We needn't squabble here. Take it outside. We must, however, decide on a course of action. James Potter, despite what you may protest, you know your brother best. And if you say he cannot be convinced to return to Britannia, then what do you suggest?"

"Chairman," James said, speaking with an air of finality, "I haven't the faintest idea."

"Is that so? In that case, I have a proposal. We will issue an ultimatum to the French. If they do not consent to return Senator Albus Severus Potter, by Janurary 1st, 2042, there will be _repercussions_."

"Sir," James interrupted, "I'm not sure if threats are the best way to deal with thi-"

"Don't forget, Senator Potter. You said you hadn't the faintest idea what to do. If you had one, you should have said it earlier. All in favour of passing the motion, raise your hands!"

Despite James' wild protests, the motion sailed on through. It seemed that the Senate believed the French would easily capitulate to the commands given to them by the Britannians, after Voldemort's crushing conquest of their country in the Second Wizarding World War.

-_December 12th, 2041, Paris_

"You will excuse my rather uneducated English, I hope?" , spoke a silky voice from across a table. The room was small, but well furnished. Stuffed animal heads lined the walls, paintings hung over the fireplace and mantel piece. The carpet was a lavish green, tasseled, and the finest quality that Persian Wizards could weave with their spells.

"Oh, yeah, of course." The reply came from a young man who sat across from him. His glasses were on in a somewhat lopsided manner, his hair tangled and long, and a goatee protruding from his chin.

"Well then, Albus Potter, what is it you have come here to discuss with us. You must know, that as the head of the entire French state, I have little time on my hands to spare."

"President Felix Loubet, I believe that, within 2 years, Britannia will declare war on your state."

Albus replied hurriedly.

"Senator, if that's all you have to say, you're wasting your time. We know the Britannians have clear aggressive tendencies towards us. I'm sure you remember Voldemort's invasion of 1996."

"I haven't forgotten in the slightest, President. But my primary concern is that you will lose. And there will be no Harry Potter to stop Voldemort from inside this time, oh no. Without him, your state would be nothing more than miles of blood red soil." Albus retorted definitely.

The president twitched. "I don't see why you're rubbing in past wounds that have nothing to do with this. We are fully aware of how much we owe your father and the Order of the Phoenix resistance movement."

"I'm offering to _help _you, President. If, no, _when _the war comes, I refuse to stand by idly, watching over a million Voldemorts fill your rivers and soils will French blood. I am a Britannian at heart, have no doubt. But I refuse to allow a repeat of that massacre to happen."

President Loubet looked suspiciously at the rather messy figure sitting before him. "France is much stronger now, having absorbed many of the shattered countries Voldemort left in his wake."

"Stronger, yes," Albus said touchily, "but not strong enough."

The President paused and considered Albus' offer. "I'm tempted. But how do I know I can trust you? After all, any traitor to his own country may as well be a traitor to mine."

"I'm no traitor, Mr. Loubet. I am a man who does not wish to see millions of innocent lives perish. And I believe that I can stop it."

The French President let out a laugh that filled the room, short and sharp. "You think of yourself as some sort of Messiah?"

"No, I would say I am the Chosen One of this generation. If I must defy my country to fulfil my fate, so be it. This is what is right for me to do."

The other man stood, a swift motion supplemented by his thin, tall, body. "I accept."

Just as the offer was completed, the intricately carved wooden doors resounded with two sharp knocks.

"I'm busy! What is it?" Loubet snapped at the closed doors.

"...Sir, the Britannians have made an ultimatum. They wish for us to return Albus Severus Potter to Britannian territory by the 1st of Janurary, 2042, else they threaten to retrieve him...by force."


	3. Chapter 3

_-December 12th, 2041, Paris_

"...Sir, the Britannians have made an ultimatum. They wish for us to return Albus Severus Potter to Britannian territory by the 1st of Janurary, 2042, else they threaten to retrieve him...by force."

Albus snickered softly. "By force? I'd like to see them try." A rebellious spark began to light in his vivid green eyes.

Loubet, needless to say, was less amused by the proposition. "Albus Severus Potter, you said you wished to prevent the war, did you not? Well, here's your chance. Get out of my country, and return to your own."

(A/N: I really had trouble here finding a way that Albus simply wouldn't return and avoid the war, and thus, the entire plot...)

For a moment, Albus was silent. "I..." He began to stutter, unprepared for the situation which had arisen.

"You say you wished to be the one to prevent a war? Is this not war looming here as we speak?" Loubet declared confidently.

"I...I...can't..." Albus stuttered. His mind swirled with a thousand justifications for not returning. If he returned, the whole affair would be for nothing. His father, mother, brother, sister...The looks of disappointment on their faces would be more than he could take. Returning would most likely mean an instant expulsion from his seat in the Senate as well. Albus bit his lip. To defy the order, however, would lead to war with _him _as the cause. He, who only sought to prevent the massacre of innocents once more. He who sought for history, not to repeat, but to be different. In the end, his mind had been made up all along. There was only one decision that his ideals allowed him to follow, after all.

Albus turned his back on the President. "Very well. I am departing, President Loubet. Goodbye."

Loubet did not respond, merely averting his eyes pointedly, looking towards a painting of one of his predecessors. The man inside the painting was asleep, yet his scarred face showed pain that no-one else could hope to comprehend. His name had been Nicloas Claire, and he had been the President of the French State during the Second Wizarding World War.

When Voldemort's forces had begun their systematic conquest, and subsequent Genocide, he had led the French Forces into battle with himself at the lead. Claire, however, though being a courageous man, was not a wizard made for battle. He was made for the intricacies of armchair politics and magical study, not leading forces to an inevitable death.

Claire had been one of the first to be struck down in the battle, not by a spell of the opponent's but rather, by a stray allied shot, a blasting curse that threw him into a tree, and broke his neck. Seeing their general's body, his troops began to break formation, and within minutes, were slaughtered by Voldemort's forces, in what was known as "The Bayeux Massacre."

That was almost 50 years ago. Today, Claire was looked upon, not with hatred, but with an almost admiring pity, for his heroic spirit and tragic fate. It was ironic, being one of the worst failures as a President and General, and yet being one of the most romanticised and well-loved leaders of the country.

For a moment, Loubet stood and wondered. In the event of an inevitable war within his time as President, would he be the next Claire? Would he be the one to lead his men into battle, as Claire did? Would he be the one to die a hero's death, revered by his country? Loubet quickly shook such questions off. There was no point thinking pessimistically, after all. Surely said war wouldn't come. Surely.

_-December 12th, 2041, Northern France_

In a shaded field, leaning against a solitary tree, set a young man in a trenchcoat. The sky above was dark and gray, foreboding clouds warning of the coming storm. He shivered, despite wearing the thick clothing that he was. In the haunting darkness of the day, another figure approached. He moved swiftly, unfazed by the burden of the cold winds and dark skies.

Without so much as asking, the second figure sat beside Albus. "Good evening." The second figure whispered roughly, inclining his head towards his companion.

Albus was blunt and to the point. "Who are you and what do you want?"

"The same thing you want. A world where history does not have to repeat itself."

Albus began to turn. "Interesting...I'm assuming that you are French, of course?"

"I am the military governor, yes. However, I was not born here. I was born of a very different blood. You would most likely recognise me instantly, were you to see my face." The figure responded casually.

"So, then, tell me, why are you here? What do you, France's military governor, have to do with me? Albus asked quizzically, not bothering to turn to the figure sitting on his left."

"Do you know where you're sitting?"

"Do I look French to you, Governor?" Albus retorted.

A muffled chuckle came from the figure at his side, absent mindedly plucking grass. "Slightly. your facial features and hairstyle are somewhat reminiscent of several friends I have."

Albus snorted. "It was a rhetorical question. Get on with it please."

"Somebody's in a bad mood, my friend." Quipped the mysterious stranger. "Anyway," he continued, "Where you are currently sitting, is the grave of France's most beloved president, president Nicolas Claire. He led France for a short period during the Second World War. Tragically, he died in this spot, killed by friendly fire while leading his troops. Or so they say. One cannot help but question these legends, right?"

Albus shifted uncomfortably. "Great. So I'm sitting on a dead man's grave?"

"Pretty much, I'm afraid."

"Look, I don't have much time. I need to get back to Britannia. Spit it out. I came here for a rest, not a chat." Albus snapped irritably.

"Do you really? Do you really _need _to return to Britannia, or is that something that you have merely convinced yourself that you must do? Is it a desire, or an obligation that hold? Answer me that, Albus Severus Potter."

Albus sighed and turned. "Do I have any alternative? I have to return, unless I want to start a war, and you know damm well that's the last thing I want!"

"But is returning the only way to do that? Perhaps...there is another way you could consider?" The figure on his left, now standing, asked.

Albus, sick of the posturing, decided to drop his facade of ignorance, and faced the figure.

"Frankly, I don't know what you could offer me I couldn't get or do myself, Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy."


	4. Chapter 4

_-December 12, 2041, Bayeux_

Scorpius laughed softly. "When did you notice? Or did you know from the very start?"

Albus was silent for a second, before replying. "To be honest, I have no idea. I probably knew it from the beginning, though I admit, I would have never expected you to become a minister."

Scorpius snickered once more. "Well, I suppose life has a strange way with things, does it not?"

Albus shook his head. "Indeed it does. I never thought I'd see the day when a Malfoy was not only a French citizen, but a governor."

Shaking his head, Scorpius declared, "I am no Malfoy any more. Don't remind me of that. My name is Scorpius Hyperion Victore, and I intend to keep it that way."

"Hah. I guess that was inevitable, after you turned yourself out onto the streets. Nobody knew where you went, I'm guessing you headed straight to France?" Albus asked.

"Not at first. For the first few years, I crashed on friends' couches." Scorpius sniffed.

"You have friends? I thought all you had were a nest of snakes that you liked to pet." Albus scoffed mockingly.

"Oh shut up, Potter." The younger Malfoy snapped angrily, "Continuing on, after that, I decided that I would come here. And I've been here ever since, save for several occasions."

"I assume those several occasions were family visits?" Albus questioned casually.

"...Of a sort."

"...Malfoy, you weren't involved in...you wouldn't..." Albus stuttered, his previously jovial face now darkening with worry.

Scorpius snickered. "So you got my implication. Well done, Potter. Yes, it was me who conducted the ransacking of Malfoy Manor and the subsequent burning of Malfoy family artifacts."

Albus shook his head. "So much hatred Malfoy...It seems that is what has not changed between this generation and the last. But surely you weren't involved in _her _death, right?"

"I may have had a hand in it, actually."

"Lestrange? For god's sake, Malfoy, she's your great-aunt, do you really hate your own family that much?" Albus yelped.

"There are some scum that simply deserve to be wiped off this planet, Albus." Scorpius replied coldly.

"Those words are a strange echo...It really does seem that not much has changed. And what of yourself? No matter how many names you change, your blood will never do the same."

Scorpius turned to Albus with a fearless smile. "Then I shall do the honours, when it comes to my turn."

Albus remained silent for a moment. "Then let us pray it never comes to your turn. No crusade of hatred can ever turn out well."

"Perhaps, if that is what you believe, Albus. In the meantime, let's return to our current situation, shall we?"

Albus looked Scorpius in the eye. "Yes, let's. What is it you would have me do, Scorpius?"

"Have you do? There are several things I think you could help us with, quite a-"

Scorpius' words were immediately cut off by a bang, at least 50 metres behind both men. Mere seconds after the sound, still resonating in their eardrums, a set of black chains shot past Scorpius' face, barely missing him, their shining metallic bonds slicing his cheek open as they rushed past, a fierce wind accompanying their flight. Thankful that he had not been hit, Scorpius began to turn, only to hear a devastating crunch from directly behind.

Albus lay on the floor, chains draped around his body, and blood trickling from his nose and mouth. It had become quite clear that at least several of his bones were broken, as well as having sustained minor cuts, trickling crimson red blood into the grassy field.

Malfoy bit his lip. He had no doubt that their attacker must have cast an Anti-Disapparition Jinx, to make sure that they could in no way have an easy escape route. Pivoting to face his opponent, Malfoy spied a figure, rapidly appearing and disappearing in short bursts, coming ever closer.

Wizarding Duels had changed in the past century. No longer were they the honorable, one on one fights in which one sought to vanquish their opponents with fancy wandwork or complicated spell patterns. Neither were they a simple case of "Shoot until somebody's dead.". Instead, they were a bleak, harsh, reality. A fight to the death by a thousand cuts where any advantage sought was pursued like a rabid dog, and any opportunity was seized like a starving man reaching for food.

As his foe blinked ever closer, Scorpius drew his wand from his sleeve, a polished Ebony stick with a rather intricate handle. As much as he hated his family, he could not deny they had style in their selection of wands. As the opposing wizard came within 30 metres of him, Scorpius reacted swiftly.

"_Expulso!"_

Scorpius had not pointed at his foe, who was moving far too fast to even attempt to aim at. Instead he pointed at the ground, some 25 metres away from him. After several seconds delay, a thunderous explosion of soil and grass burst forward, leaving nothing but a crater behind, in a shower of dirt. His opponent was unharmed and unfazed, drawing ever closer. A black, cloaked figure.

"So he wants to get into a real fight, huh?" Scorpius muttered to himself. Briefly, he glanced down at the injured Potter on the floor. Albus' white face was expressionless and drained of all color. His lips moved slowly, forming unsteady words. "He's...a Britannian agent...Scorpius...leave me...if you don't want to...get into...trouble..."

Scorpius shook his head, amused. "Thanks for the offer, but I'm going to kill this bastard." He declared bluntly, speaking as much to the Britannian wizard as he was to Albus.

Turning back to his foe, Scorpius pointed his wand forward, and in a motion he had repeated thousands of times, declared "_Frangendum Vis_!" Churning like a cauldron, in front of Scorpius appeared a somewhat translucent circular shield. The spell's name was 'The Shield Curse", so as to differentiate it from its similarly named cousin. Its purpose was simple. Discovered during the Second Wizarding World War, it was a semi-physical, mobile barrier that could be moved at will by the caster, allowing them to block a wide variety of spells, including the infamous "_Avada Kedavra_" due to its property of being partially physically existent.

The spell had quickly become standard issue, and with its rising popularity, had obsoleted the Killing curse's advantage of being unblockable. Indeed, many modern magical historians attributed it as one of the reasons for Voldemort's downfall, as his previously set up strategy no longer worked. His previous tactic had relied on massive barrages of the Avada Kedavra spells, targeting not their front lines, but rather, raining upon their entire army, in order to cause absolute chaos and inflict severe psychological damage on the common troops, as well as severely breaking any formation they may have once had.

Several white bolts of energy blazed towards Scorpius, all easily glancing off his shield without so much as a scratch. His opponent had now slowed down, advancing slowly by foot, and having cast a similar spell. Gritting his teeth, Scorpius sent a jet of flame along the floor, attempting to burn his foe from below. The flames crept forward, a line of orange destruction rushing towards the Britannian wizard.

Noticing the strike, however, the wizard merely Apparated several paces left and forward, before sending a barrage of his own spells Scorpius' way. Before they even got halfway, however, Scorpius had countered, with his own "_Arresto Momentum_" spell. The motion-stopping spell was another tenet of basic combat, the general idea being to limit damage to one's shield by preventing the enemy's attack mid-air, and thus, allowing time for a counter attack. Wasting no time, Scorpius issued several Blasting Curses from his wand, blowing away his opponent's spells, and aiming to destroy the Britannian Wizard's shield. Before the spells could close on his shield, however, the spells abruptly stopped, unmoving ripples in the smoke filled air.

Scorpius, however, predicting this, cried "_Jacio_!". A second pulse of unseen energy hurtled towards the Britannian Wizard, and, still busy countering the first spell, was thrown off his feet, as though hurled by giant's hand from below, landing around 10 metres away in a crumpled heap. It was yet another tenet of modern combat. Prediction. Knowing that some of your moves are destined to fail, planning for such, and using failed moves to your advantage.

The Britannian Wizard was undoubtedly, a trained duellist. Scorpius, however, was better. Not only that, but he was relentless. The Malfoy's cold heart showed no mercy. As his opponent struggled to stand, a set of chains slammed into his ribs, tumbling him over and binding his arms to his sides. Malfoy smiled in satisfaction. That had to have broken at least a few bones, he thought grimly. Ironic retribution, after all, was one of the sweetest things in life.

Roughly, he grabbed the wizard's collar, and kicked his wand into the distance, the wooden stick flying into the flames that had begun to engulf the field. "Alright. Tell me who you work for, and why you're here."

Though clearly in pain, the wizard managed a smile. "Why should I tell you what you already know? What you need to know is that there are 44 more agents apparating this way, since I removed my Anti-Apparition Jinx."

Scorpius smiled grimly. In a somewhat disconcerting whirl, he had disappeared, and reappeared at Albus' side. "In that case, I'll be taking our Potter friend here to a hospital." He began to turn his back on the chained wizard in the flames, his eyes cold.

"Oh, and one last thing." Malfoy declared, his voice sounding almost happy as he began to disappear with the now unconscious Albus.

There was a sound somewhat like a raw egg being broken around the vicinity of the agent.

"Burn."

**A/N: **

Made up Spells in this chapter:

Fragendum Vis - Breaking Force

Jacio - Literally, "I hurl, or I throw"

Sorry, my Latin isn't perfect, and I'm still not sure whether I was meant to use a Gerund or Infinitive for the first spell.

Scorpius, also, in a way, represents the concept of being 'on the right side', however, 'with the wrong attitude'. Just because you support a 'good cause', doesn't make you a necessarily 'good person', right?

Of course, this is assuming the French cause is a 'good cause', but really, there's no such thing as a perfectly 'good cause', and the French, though certainly victims, are far from innocent, as the next few chapters may show.


	5. Chapter 5

_-December 13th, 2041, Paris_

Albus awoke feeling somewhat disorientated. Somehow, the world seemed rather distant to him right now. He was vaguely aware of minor pains in his ribcage and arms. Grunting, he tried to sit up, only to be forced back down again. As he slowly regained consciousness, he managed to take in his appeared to be lying in a hospital ward. There were, however no other beds to be seen. The room was large, spacious and comfortable, as well as being well furnished, with a warm fireplace just across from his large bed. Sitting beside him was a rather old nurse, holding a bottle of translucent green liquid. Albus barely had time to complain as the bottle was forced into his throat without a second glance from the aged woman, spilling the juice roughly down his throat. Somehow, it actually tasted decent, a rather tangy orange taste.

After the initial struggle, Albus managed to compose himself, and re-assessed his situation. The last thing he remembered was the smell of smoke, and the feel of cold metal hugging his torn skin. As the bottle came free and he was allowed to sit up once more, Albus became aware of the lessening pain in his chest and arms.

"What...Happened?" Albus asked rather tentatively to the nurse beside him, knowing that it was unlikely he would get an answer.

There was no response, as he had predicted. Fortunately for Albus, his answers came striding through the door in the form of two men. President Loubet and Scorpius Malfoy. Both looked somewhat harried, with bags underneath their unfocused eyes.

"Scorpius! What happened?" Albus loudly asked.

Scorpius tiredly sat down on the couch across from him, a plump, purple piece of furniture with intricate wooden carvings decorating its sides.

"Long story, Albus, long story." He muttered.

"I don't care, Malfoy, tell me."

"Where to begin? When you were last awake, we were attacked by a Britannian agent. His intention was clearly to attempt to retrieve you, and he obviously did not expect me to be there as well. Well, he knocked you clean out of battle in a surprise hit. You were somewhat severely injured, and suffered broken bones and bruising. I fought him, and during the fight, the field was lit alight. After his defeat, he was...knocked into unconsciousness, and his Jinx was broken, allowing me to escape with you." Scorpius explained, finishing with a dejected sigh.

"What happened to the agent?" Albus queried.

"Well, you see, this is-" Scorpius began, however, he was interrupted by Loubet, who strode over in two angry steps and slammed a newspaper onto Albus' lap.

"THIS is what happened!" Loubet declared forcefully, his strong voice echoing throughout the room and neighbouring corridors.

With trembling arms, Albus picked up what he recognised to be a copy of the Daily Prophet. A single headline filled the entire front page, "French Military Governor assaults, fatally injuring Britannian Agent." Albus shivered at the headline. Scanning through it, several words leapt out at him, burning themselves into his eyes.

"Inferno...Burns to 80% of his body...Unfound for 20 minutes..." Albus tossed the paper down in disgust. Turning to the weary Scorpius, he began the shout.

"What the hell did you do, Scorpius? It seems less like you set the field on fire, and more like you set _him _on fire!"

Scorpius slowly looked up. "I did nothing of the sort."

Loubet cut in, annoyed. "Then explain why they couldn't find what was almost a corpse for 20 minutes!"

Scorpius had no response. Under his breath, he muttered to himself. "I was using it to buy time..."

Albus heard him, though he did not like what he heard. "Buy time? There are better ways to buy time than nearly killing a man!"

"Perhaps." was all Scorpius said in reply.

Loubet strode in between the two men, his eyes hard and cold. "Well, it's time to get to the real matter here."

Scorpius looked down. Albus looked up.

Sweeping both men with his gaze, Loubet declared, "The Britannians have modified their Ultimatum. They wish for Albus Severus Potter to return to Britannian Territory by the 15th of December. In addition, they request Military Governor Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy be removed from his position, and sent along with Albus Potter... For a formal trial under Britannian Law for the attempted murder of James Carthage."

Albus shook his head. "I refuse. They tried to take me back by force already, remember? Haven't they already broken the Ultimatum by launching their "retrieval by force" 20 days early?"

Scorpius nodded in agreement. "Their Ultimatum is no longer valid! They've broken it on their own end!"

Loubet shook his head angrily, "I don't care. We can't _afford _to care. We _must _capitulate to their demands if we are to avoid war."

Albus groaned. "Surely, President, you cannot bow to every demand they make? When the ask for more, and they will, for their hunger is never satisfied, will you still bow?"

Loubet turned away. "I do not wish to deal with Hypotheticals. Malfoy, the Congress has voted. You have been removed from your position. You have 48 hours to leave this country. As with you, Albus. However, this time, I am not leaving it up to chance."

Albus looked quizzically at the President. "Are we not free to make our own way there?"

As if in reply to his question, the doors swung open, and 15 armored figures strode into the room. Each had at least 2 wands at their side, and 1 at their wrists. They were clad head to toe in shining metal armor, form fitting and yet, from the stride, very light. Embroidered on their chest plates were the Coat-Of-Arms of Britannia. Albus knew who they were. He had seen them many times in his lifetime, striding up and down the halls of the Ministry's most sacred places.

"These are the Britannian Royal Guard. They will be accompanying you from here on." Loubet declared. "Of course, that's assuming you can even call several sets of Side-Along Apparition a 'trip'."


End file.
